


Frohe Weihnachten, Rotwang

by HorrorHobbit



Category: Metropolis (1927)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 11:21:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17161067
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HorrorHobbit/pseuds/HorrorHobbit
Summary: On a cold winter's night in Metropolis, Rotwang is visited by someone he loves.





	Frohe Weihnachten, Rotwang

**Author's Note:**

> Another Metropolis piece I wrote not long after I saw the film, and in the spirit of the season, I decided to post it. Hope you enjoy it, and happy holidays!

He should know better.

He should know better than to go out in the cold, with his mechanical hand and all: Standing out in the falling Metropolis snow in the dead of night, trying to keep the cogs and wiring from freezing up, for if they do, it'll be forever until he can get them working properly again, and he'll just wind up kicking himself for even going outside in the first place.

There's work to be done, no time for mourning. She'll be back in your arms, as soon as you finish.

He sighed, breath swirling in the night air as he massaged the gears through the cold leather glove, slowly curling and flexing his fingers to keep them functioning at best. He grunted a bit as he did, frustrated by the iciness that crept in.

"What happened to your hand?"

He looks over, as she reaches out to take his hand, feeling it, pushing against the leather, and accordingly, the gears and wires turning and pulling beneath. Idly, he replied, "An accident. Lab work. Think nothing of it."

"I knew this would happen someday," she chastised, shaking her head before planting a warm kiss on his knuckle. "You must learn to be more careful, Rotwang."

He feels his shoulders droop and relax, and a faint smirk graces his lips (always he smirked, never truly smiled) as she leaned against him, glancing up at the full moon, pouring its light down over the empty streets. Feeling her at his side, he remarked, "Do you remember my tree?"

"Your Weihnachtsbaum? Of course," she giggled, the memory flooding back:

*

"Conrad Abelard Rotwang, you better tell me what's going on!" she laughed, Rotwang leading her downstairs, face alight with anticipation as he smirked, "Schnell, schnell! You are going to love this, Meine Freude, just love it!"

The living area was dark, and she felt herself leaning against his arm as he reached into his pocket to pull out a small remote, and with the press of a button, she found herself temporarily blinded by a sudden wave of color and light, but soon, her eyes adjusted, and she found herself taken aback by this...thing that had somehow been assembled in her living room.

It was a...tree: A metallic tree, with assorted lights screwed into it, some blinking, others fading and lighting, and others still changing colors. Slowly and curiously, she approached it, mesmerized, reaching out to touch a false branch.

"Look," Rotwang spoke, and she back, seeing him reach into his other pocket to remove a different shaped bulb, unscrewing one from the tree before putting this new one in its place, and soon, it began to glow like its fellows.  
"See? You can change the bulbs anytime, to whatever your whim!" he smirked, obviously thrilled with the success of his tree, and she couldn't help but smile as he went on, "I could sell these, and soon, everyone could have a Weihnachtsbaum that never makes a mess or needs to be replaced every year! It'll change Weihnachten in Metropolis forever!"

He then turned and looked at her, big green eyes searching her face as he asked, "Well, what do you think, Meine Freude? Do you like it?"

"I love it," she swore, taking his hands, as he then pulled her against him, and she leaned against his broad chest, before adding, "I'm just...not sure how you got it through the door!"

"Well, it took a little bit of assembling," he admitted, wrapping his arm around her waist. "Thankfully, you were quite tired, so while you were sleeping, I put it together. To surprise you."  
"Well, I certainly am surprised, Rotwang," she promised, intertwining his fingers with hers, basking in the glow of the tree.

*

"I still have it," he remarked, and she looked up at him. "I bring it out every Weihnachten, and light it. For you."

She gave a wry smile at this confession, averting her gaze as she reached out to touch his gloved hand again, fiddling with the grooved leather, before looking back into his face.

He had changed, in these last few years: What thick, black waves of hair he once had, and soft too! She remembered racing her fingers through it, marveling at it, but no longer was it so dark. It was a shocking white, coarser now, not as smooth as it once was (though just as messy-Rotwang was never one for combing his hair). His skin had paled, gone from an at least healthy, if light pallor to an ashen tone, sickly from a lack of light. His eyes, once flashing sparks of green, had dulled, fainter now with deep, dark circles that hung beneath them. He looked older, tired, sadder than she had ever seen him.

And yet, she hadn't changed at all: Her dark blonde hair was still tightly curled, and he recalled her always hating it when he would touch it before she went to work, incessantly uncurling her locks as he kissed her (Rotwang always touched her hair when he kissed her). She had a glow, an angelic glow that he felt was shimmering even brighter in the moonlight. Her eyes, eyes that could cast cold, hard glares and soft, adoring glances, shined out on her face, their creamy brown shade focused on him. She was still a vision of beauty-beauty he'd fallen for the moment he met her, all those years ago.

Rotwang sighed, closing his eyes, committing her appearance to memory, before slowly opening them, knowing what would be there.

Nothing.

No one stood by his side, holding his hand, kissing it, making him burn with the joy she brought.

He huffed and bowed his head, before bringing it up to look at the tower, gleaming in the night from afar. His breath froze in his throat, knowing of the entombed body of the woman he loved, kept in that far-away tower. The woman he had adored and worshiped, torn from his arms, dragged into that world of elitist wealth, only for him to lose her completely-her own life severed while bringing another into the world.

Clenching his fist, he put it over his aching heart, jaw clenched tightly as he managed to keep his gaze on the tower, as he whispered hoarsely:

"Frohe Weihnachten, Hel."


End file.
